


Heart, Jericho

by Kaitiedid



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Hank has a lot on his plate, Human!Connor, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Over-the-fence flirting, Swearing and drinking, vigilantes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 12:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19173331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaitiedid/pseuds/Kaitiedid
Summary: Hank's having a rough time at work. Now that he's been forced into taking on a case- literally, by the perpetrators themselves- he hasn't known peace. Usually, he'd be able to go home and drink his problems away, but the new neighbor is more than a little distracting.





	Heart, Jericho

Someone’s moved into the house next door. Hank wouldn’t have noticed, if the giant-ass U-Haul hadn’t been blocking his car in. He has half a mind to just turn around, go back to bed and forget once again that he has work later that evening, but he’s also out of beer. And he refuses to be home alone without some alcohol. So he makes his way around the garish orange truck, to the driver’s seat, but it’s empty. Figures. Grumbling, he rounds the cab and walks up to the door of the house.  It’s open, propped by one of the many boxes in the hallway. He hesitates before rapping his knuckles on the door frame. 

“Anyone home?” he calls gruffly. 

There’s sounds of someone scrambling, boxes being knocked into, and then someone is tripping over themselves into the hallway. 

As he straightens, Hank takes a second to look him over. He’s young, probably late twenties or early thirties. His dark brown hair is a mess.  _ Just like this hallway _ . 

The stranger steps forward with a smile, goddamn near  _ chirping _ a “Hello!”. Hank notes big brown eyes, freckles and moles scattered around them. He’s a cop, it’s his job to notice things. 

_ Cute _ , he thinks anyway. He pushes the unbidden thought away. He’s too damn old for that. 

“Uh, hi,” he answers, a little late. 

He’s rewarded with a blinding smile that he refuses to acknowledge as attractive.  _ He looks goofy _ , he tells himself stubbornly. 

“My name is Connor,” the new neighbor says without prompting.

“Hank.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I live next door. Your, uh, your truck is kinda blocking me in.”

“Oh no.” Connor’s smile drops. He looks a little sheepish, and Hank can’t bring himself to be mad at him. “Let me get my friend, he has the keys.” And then he’s off, disappearing into a back room. He’s back before Hank’s even off the porch. 

“My apologies, Hank. He’s in the bathroom, but he’ll be right out. I hope we haven’t made you late for anything.”

Honestly, Hank’s a little put off by the absolute sincerity in his voice. He’d expected to have to yell at the new- and assumedly inconsiderate- neighbor, but he’s cute and actually nice. He’s a little lost without that irritation to fall back on. It’s been a while since his last actual social interaction. Snarking at Reed and getting yelled at by Fowler didn’t count. 

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

Connor hums as he starts across the lawn. Hank follows, by no conscious decision of his own. His new neighbor sets about closing the back of the truck, and it hits him that he recognizes that tune.

“You listen to the Knights?” he asks incredulously. 

Connor perks up, turning to face him. “Yes! I like them. Their music is just- it’s so full of energy, you know?”

That has to be the stupidest way someone’s ever described heavy metal, but he can’t bring himself to be irritated, not with the way his eyes light up and the smile on his face. He’s always been weak to shit like that. It’s always gotten him in trouble too. 

Awkwardly, he leans against his fence while Connor closes up the back of the truck. 

“Where’re you from?” he asks suddenly.

Connor turns to smile at him again. Doesn’t his face get tired? “I’m from Detroit. Just an inner city move.” 

“Huh.”

Well, there goes that conversation. He’s sorely out of practice. Thankfully, Connor’s better. “What about you, Hank? Where are you from?”

“Detroit, born and raised. So, uh, what do you do?”

Connor smiles, and it’s proud and a little… coy? Not quite the smile he was expecting, but it’s not up to him to police people's’ facial expressions. “I work with computers.”

“Y’any good?”

“Incredibly,” he says, without a hint of insincerity. Damn kid. 

“Sorry about the wait,” someone says behind them. Hank turns slightly. There’s a blond man coming out of the house, waving a set of keys. Hank raises an eyebrow.  _ Friend, huh?  _

He sticks a hand out for Hank, who shakes it briefly. “My name’s Simon.”

“Hank.”

Good god, if he was going to have to do small talk all over again, he’s going to keel over on the sidewalk. He’s not drunk enough for this. He’s not drunk at all, which is a major problem. 

Connor and Simon share a look that Hank can’t quite decode. Then he rounds the truck and climbs into the cab to start it. As it moves up the street, Connor turns to him again. “What about you? What do you do?”

Hank shrugs, pushing off the fence. “I’m a cop, occasionally,” he says over his shoulder before dropping into his car. Connor waves as he backs out. When he looks at the rear-view mirror, Connor is still watching intently. 

What a weird guy. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I have a lot of this planned out, and now that finals are almost over, I should be getting back on track. Let me know what you think! ^ ^


End file.
